ATF: Into My Arms
by foggynite
Summary: An EzraInez fic with the guys hopping in later on. Discontinued.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Into My Arms  
Genre: ATF Romance/Angst Songfic  
Pairing: Ezra/Inez  
  
Title taken from the song Into My Arms by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.  
  
Notes: Do forgive the lack of team action, but I wanted to write a fic that centered on Ezra and Inez. There's some action, some plot- Nothing too naughty, I'm afraid. Thanks to Gwyneth Hunter for getting me in the mood to write what's been stomping around in my head for a bit now.  
  
PART ONE  
  
Ezra sat heavily at the Seven's usual table, tucked away at the back of the 'Saloon' with full view of the room and exits.   
  
Funny thing about law enforcement agents; you just couldn't sit with your back to the entrance. For Ezra, it was an unconscious decision he was almost physically incapable of changing. To do so meant relaxing, letting your guard down. Blind spots are unacceptable in a profession where your life depends on seeing what's coming.  
  
He snorted into his beer. The only thing he needed to watch out for right now was Nathan. Send him thugs, drug dealers, and the mafia, and he wouldn't blink. Send Nathan in mother-hen mode with Buck and Josiah right behind him, and watch Ezra run like hell.  
  
*Damn stitches burn like hell.* Shifting slightly to ease his growing discomfort, Ezra took another sip of beer. The wound in his abdomen caused him to hunch slightly in his seat, unwilling to pull on tender skin. It was a flesh wound really. Nothing dire. He'd gotten worse on the Rocci case, yet you'd think he was dying, the way the rest of them were carrying on.   
  
No doubt the hounds would be after him soon enough, what with his ditching them back at the ER. He snuck out while they were momentarily distracted by Josiah's slight concussion. Yet another wound you'd think was mortal the way they fawned and smothered. He couldn't take much more, so he effected his early release.  
  
After all this time, he expected them to have picked up on at least that much. Ezra P. Standish does not 'do' coddling. The more they fuss, the farther he runs. Not that *he* would call it running. More like, partaking in solitude.  
  
Frowning, he traced patterns in the condensation of the brown bottle.  
  
Solitude was an old friend. Solitude he knew in and out, like a well worn book he read a thousand times. All of solitude's quirks and habits, actions and reactions, Ezra could predict, use, and revel in. No fear of betrayal, no messy emotional attachments, no deep delving psychological probes.   
  
Solitude let him exist in peace, as himself with no other expectations. Solitude did not hold him up to higher standards than he could ever attain. It did not want him to be trustworthy and noble and cunning and successful. Solitude did not make him wish for acceptance; to join in and feel like he belonged somewhere finally.   
  
Solitude allowed him to exist, numb and jaded, behind walls of his own design. And he liked it there. He really did. At least, that's what he told himself.  
  
His beer was finished. He looked longingly at the bar counter, where Inez was serving drinks. Five feet seemed so far away when you really did not wish to move. He resisted the urge to sigh. Perhaps it was for the best; he couldn't remember if the ER doctor had given him pain medication or not. Eight hours to get a teensy little cut stitched up and he was working damn hard to repress all of them.  
  
*Hospitals.* He shuddered, idly rolling the now empty bottle back and forth on the table.  
  
His cell phone vibrated in his jacket. Viciously jabbing the power button, he laid the electronic leash on the table, parallel to the beer bottle.  
  
How many beers had he had? The blank he drew could not bode well. Maybe he shouldn't have taken those shots of yaegermeister back at the town home. At least he remembered to call a cab.  
  
Maybe he shouldn't have turned off his phone. But no, he was enjoying his Solitude. Work was over for the day, and he'd be damned if he was going in tomorrow. The team could function without him for a bit. Although, they were probably attempting to track him down at that moment so that they could drag him to his house and hog tie him in preparation for more smothering.   
  
Not that he wouldn't mind laying down. His nerves were still a bit frazzled from earlier- but he was busy repressing earlier. No, sleep would be a long time in coming. What was the Edward Young quote? "Tir'd Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes."  
  
Ezra was not sure where he might fall in that moral scale. Some days he believed himself among the wretched. Being an insomniac was a blessing and a curse. He could pull off late night busts and research cases til sunrise without a yawn, but come the time to lay down, he became restless. Often his initial attempts at slumber would be fraught with dreams and nightmares, and when he finally slipped into any sort of restful stage, his alarm would sound.   
  
The team liked to joke about his punctuality problem, but what he wouldn't give to sleep at will, peacefully.  
  
"Oh damn. I do believe I am inebriated. . ." The brown bottle merely kept up it's hypnotic path, not responding at all. "I s'pose the rather maudlin thoughts should have foreshadowed such an event. Quite out of character, I'm sure."  
  
"Senor Standish?" Bleary eyes focused on Inez's concerned face.  
  
"Yes, dear lady?"  
  
She smiled gently. "We are closing soon. Perhaps I could call you a cab?"  
  
"If you would be so kind, madame. I don't suppose another beer while I wait is out of the question?" The charm had little effect, as usual.  
  
"You have had much to drink tonight, senor. I pity your head in the morning." Flicking her glossy hair over her shoulder casually, she set about wiping down a vacant table nearby. She stole glances at him, debating with herself and stalling on her way to the phone.  
  
The bar had been busy this shift. Deftly serving each order shouted at her over the Wednesday night band, she hadn't noticed the solitary figure at the Seven's table until after the bar had mostly cleared for the evening. She could tell by the slumped, almost despondent set of the undercover agent's pose that he was troubled. She did notice how a few members from Team 3 had given him covert looks, but no one had dared to disrupt his quiet reverie.  
  
Well, she was not a woman to tread lightly. Perhaps she would be doing more harm than good, but she truly cared for the agent. He was a gentleman and a supportive friend when she needed someone to vent to, so maybe she could return the favor.  
  
"Ezra?" She questioned softly, sitting in the empty chair next to him. An eyebrow raised slightly as his head nodded in recognition. He had seen her internal struggle and had expected the inquiry. "Care to tell me about it?"  
  
"I'd much rather forget today ever happened. Although I'm sure Mr. Jackson would say I'm still in some form of shock." His head lolled a little as he watched the last of the patrons kick back their chairs and leave in a rowdy crowd. The band had already started readying their gear for transporting and were carrying it out the back service doors with the help of the burly bartender. Rosa, the Saloon's most competent waitress, was clearing off tables and wiping down the sticky surfaces.  
  
It all seemed so normal. It could have been any other night, with Buck waiting to escort Inez to her car and Nathan hauling a drunken Josiah out the door. JD would be bouncing off the walls and teasing Buck. Chris would just silently hand his truck keys over to Vin and they would disappear, too.   
  
The feeling of unreality that hit him warned that he *had* drunk too much. His head was swimming on his shoulders.   
  
Inez was waiting patiently for him to continue, knowing that, once he was engaged in conversation, if she just sat back he'd eventually get it off his chest without prompting. She toyed absently with the white rag in her hands.  
  
". . .It'll probably be in the papers tomorrow anyway, you know." Now it was her turn to cock an eyebrow. "Another stunning Standish fuck up-" He broke off and glanced quickly at her, then away. After staring at the table top for a few seconds, he requested quietly, "I'd like that cab now, if you please."  
  
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. Going behind the bar, she retrieved her purse and jacket from the back office, then checked to make sure the kitchen was in order. She paused to speak to Rosa, then headed back to Ezra's table. The phone started ringing and she stopped to answer.  
  
It was an irate Larabee who sounded like a bear with a sore paw.   
  
"Yes, senor, he is right here. . . He's had a bit to drink. . ." A long pause. "No, he didn't tell me that!" She turned the Inez version of the Glare of Death on Ezra as he blinked innocently back. "I was just about to get him home anyway, senor. . . No, I don't think that will be necessary. . . I *have* driven him home before, along with the rest of you at some point or another. . . Yes, I will make sure he is. Alright, I-" She stopped and stared at the receiver irately. "Ooooh! That man never lets you get a word in, then he just hangs up without so much as a goodbye!" Mumbling harshly in Spanish, she continued on to the table.  
  
"And you! Why did you not tell me you were hurt!?" She scolded him as she lifted him by the elbow- being surprisingly gentle for her mood- and steered him to the door. "Foolish man! Going drinking right after getting out of the doctor's! I am amazed you've lived as long as you have!"  
  
"I assure you, I am fine, dear lady." He deliberately drawled as she hooked his arm around her shoulders when he stumbled. For some reason, the ground was coming up at him in waves, making it dreadfully annoying to keep a straight step.  
  
"Oh, of *course* you are! It was only forty-eight stitches this time! Silly me, what am I thinking, being concerned? I'm sure you could jog home if you wanted to!" Her dramatic eye-roll would have made JD proud.  
  
"Sarcasm is the recourse of a weak mind, you know."   
  
"Is *that* why you always use it? I had wondered."  
  
Before he could reply, he tripped again. With muscles developed from carrying heavy trays of drinks everyday, Inez managed to keep them standing but barely. Ezra tried to curl in around his wounded stomach, but only succeeded in staggering both of them towards the wall.  
  
"Perhaps you should wait here by the door and I will pull the car around. If anything, it will be safer for me. I think your guardian angel has taken the night off, senor. No doubt you have worn her out." Inez propped him against the brick building and dug into her purse for her keyring.  
  
"No doubt I have caused her to resign her wings out of pure frustration. If I even have one at all." He leaned his head back against the cool bricks, closing his eyes then immediately opening them to stave off the tumbling feeling in his skull.  
  
"Of course you do. That's why there was *only* forty-eight stitches and not something worse."  
  
She disappeared for the moment, keys jangling as she unlocked her car doors and slipped in. Pausing for a second, she contemplated the sorry figure out the windshield.   
  
What had he been thinking, getting drunk? Had he no common sense at all? No wonder Larabee always glowered; Ezra alone was enough to give a person ulcers, let alone the rest of them.  
  
With a sigh, she pulled the beat up Sedan around. Even sick as a dog and piss drunk, he was too gorgeous for his own good. And he knew it- Not in a Buck "I am God's gift to women" way, but more of a natural acceptance and understanding. Another tool for him to use to keep people away.  
  
Inez put the car in park and helped Ezra stagger past the headlights. Getting him buckled in with only a slight bump on his noggin, she shut the passenger door firmly behind him.  
  
The drive to his townhouse was silent. She refused to pry into his troubles without him making the first move, and he was feeling too ill to speak. The darkened porch appeared shortly and she helped him out of the car.  
  
"Thank you, Inez. I'll let you get on home." His southern murmur made her stomach clench.   
  
Her body was being a traitorous friend at the moment. Always before, she could suppress her attraction to him and let sleeping dogs lie. There was no way she could act on her emotions; she was a lady who needed no less than love and commitment in a relationship. He probably wouldn't object to taking her out, but, knowing him as she did, any hint of higher expectations would send him into a long winded excuse about having to wash his dog's hair every night for the rest of his life, nevermind the fact he had no dog.  
  
Tonight he had an air of vulnerability she had never seen before, stirring all those forbidden hopes. It was enough to make her want to chance everything just to be close to him. But right now, he needed a friend, not a flirty barmaid, and she wouldn't just abandon him.  
  
"Don't be silly, senor. I will see you inside first." With that, she plucked the keyring from his loose fingers and opened the front door. Ushering him inside, she ignored his protests.   
  
"Really, Inez, I don't want to intrude upon your night," he suddenly sounded more slurred than before. She felt his forehead worriedly, finding it too hot for her comfort.  
  
"Come on, Ezra. To bed."  
  
"Unfortunately, I am not feeling well enough to take full advantage of that remark."  
  
She looked at him sideways, judging his mood. He seemed to be half joking, half serious, but she couldn't really tell. Did anyone really know what went on in that head?  
  
Getting him up the stairs had her breathless and practically carrying him. It looked like he was asleep on his feet, except for the occasional groan. She didn't want to inadvertently jostle his stitches more, but she was losing her grip on him and had to pull him closer.   
  
Opening the bedroom door, she guided him to the king size bed. He was too out of it to make it to the bathroom, or to even remove his own jacket. She pulled his expensive leather shoes off, then used one hand to keep him sitting up as she worked his jacket carefully from his shoulders. Debating on whether or not to help him out of his clothes any further, she decided on having a look at his stomach when he doubled over with a low moan. Ezra would usually swallow his own tongue before showing any pain.  
  
"Ezra, I need your help here." She spoke softly, gently pulling him up from his hunched position. "Let me get your buttons, alright? I just want to check your bandages."  
  
He nodded absently, probably responding more to her voice and not her question. Forcing herself to be as clinical as possible, she made her way down his shirt front. She was probably over reacting, not that she would ever let any of the guys know she worried about them. It would ruin her tough bitch image.  
  
Ezra slowly sank backwards as she unbuttoned his designer shirt, so weary and tired he wanted nothing more than to pass out right there. He couldn't decide if the pain was from his wound or his stomach, but either way he felt queasy. But Inez was here and he wouldn't shame himself in front of her.   
  
Thinking about her on the ride home had kept his mind away from the day's events. Her hair, her smile, her attitude. He loved that fiery light in her eyes and the way she reveled in out witting everyone. She was a woman he could admire. His mind shied away from the thought that he might feel anything more.  
  
Inez gently peeled back the hospital gauze and tape, wincing at the angry red slash across a washboard stomach. The skin around it was puffy and irritated, but thankfully it looked as well as could be expected. She was tempted to change the bandage, seeing as how it was a few hours old, but didn't want to put Ezra though anything more that night.  
  
"Well, you'll live to be stabbed at another day, senor." Her quip was delivered in a dulcet voice as she recognized his fatigue. She pulled his legs onto the bed, thankfully having thought to turn down the comforter first, and brought the blanket up to cover him. It was as she leaned over him in her task that his eyes caught hers.  
  
Reaching up, he gently cupped his hand behind her head and pulled her lips closer for a chaste kiss. His lips were softer than she had fantasized. Her startled gaze slowly relaxed and her eyes drifted shut. She kept them closed after he broke away.   
  
"Thank you," he whispered seductively against her cheek, breath stirring the fine wisps of hair falling in her face. She felt and heard him lay back on his pillow. When her eyes opened, he was already asleep.  
  
Straightening up, she retreated downstairs quietly. She used his keys to lock the door, then slipped them back in through the mail slot. Their harsh jangle did little to dispell the feeling of unreality she had.  
  
With a deep breath, she got in her car and waited until she was on the road before turning on the radio. The latin music of her favorite station poured out her windows as she drove home.  
  
He had *kissed* her. And she liked it.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Into My Arms  
  
Part 2  
  
by foggynite  
  
*****************************************  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
". . . Forgive me, Inez. Such a greeting was uncalled for."  
  
"Yes, it was. Do they give agents special training for shouting?"  
  
"With my esteemed colleagues constantly finding rather pitiful excuses to contact me these past few days, you should feel gratified I chose to pick up the receiver. However, from your tone I presume you were subjected to such harsh treatment before phoning me?"  
  
"Buck has been quite. . . oh say, *rowdy* tonight. He and JD, as well as Senor Sanchez, were very interested in a game of darts- After having several beers, of course."  
  
"And you're calling me because. . .?"  
  
"Apparently, Team Three were more challenging targets than the wall board-"  
  
"Do I want to hear this?"  
  
"-and Danny Porter made a few offensive comments about one of their friends, who shall remain nameless, so they felt the need to defend their friend's honor by turning Senor Porter into a pin cushion, along with two of *his* friends."  
  
"And you're telling me this. . .?"  
  
"Nine days, Ezra. Nine days."  
  
"Beg your pardon?"  
  
"Nine days of moping and sighing and irritation. According to the rest of the boys, you've barely spoken to any of them since last Wednesday, you look like hell- which I wouldn't know, because you haven't been by the Saloon since then either- and when you do decide to join the land of the living, it's to snap and growl at any breathing thing in your area-"  
  
"Inez-"  
  
"Plus, your *friends* are worried crazy about you and mope about here like beaten puppies- Beaten puppies upset me, Ezra- And now they've gone and practically destroyed my bar, just 'releasing,' as Senor Larabee says, 'a little tension.' When I ask them why, no one will answer me. I think I have the right to know what the hell is going on!"  
  
"My dear, please calm down. Shouting solves nothing."  
  
"Maybe this time it will. No diversions, Ezra. No side tracking, no bullshit. Talk to me now, or wait for me to show up on your doorstep."  
  
". . .It's not that easy, Inez."  
  
"All you do is move your mouth and exhale, senor. People have been doing it for centuries."  
  
"I seem to recall mentioning before that sarcasm is the recourse of a weak mind."  
  
"What else do you 'recall' from that night?"  
  
"I- never did thank you for the ride, did I? Do forgive my lack of manners."  
  
"Forget the ride. I just want to know what's wrong, Ezra. I've heard so many rumors, mostly from Porter and his friends, but they can't all be true. I just want to know."  
  
"It's nothing fit for a lady's ears. I can't in good conscience subject you to it."  
  
"That's an excuse and you know it."  
  
"Just believe me when I say I'll be fine. Thank you for your concern."  
  
"I wish I could believe you. Even Senor Larabee is worried, Ezra."  
  
"Goodnight, Inez."  
  
"Ezra-  
  
"Errrr. Do they give special training for hanging up on people, too?"  
  
**********************************  
  
During the fifteenth century, a choir singer, Gregorio Allegri, composed 'Misere Mei' as an *abbellimenti* for the Papal Chapel in the Vatican. Since it was a 'secret ornamentation,' it was never transcribed in Allegri's lifetime, merely passed from choir to choir. Yet over a century after Allegri's death, his music was brought to the general populace when a fourteen-year old Mozart risked excommunication by copying it after only one audience at the Sistine Chapel.  
  
Listening, Ezra could understand the mad composer's need to expose the world to such a beautiful, haunting masterpiece.  
  
The first time he had heard the forbidden composition, he was eleven and in New York with his mother and her latest benefactor. An older gentleman who once played the viola, now with frail hands, he had a love for the choir and symphony on Friday nights. Ezra would always remember sitting next to him, the tired, worn face vaguely forgotten over time, but those hands in their white evening gloves would grip a silver knobbed cane and sit just so hushed yet straining towards the orchestra in anticipation of every note. The woven silk of his tuxedo was dark black, but the lights of the stage would cover his resting, quiet arm with a dull shimmer, like the young boys could spill on him part of their own vitality through the purity of their voices.  
  
At times, the old man would press his monogrammed handkerchief to his lips for long moments, staring at the scene below with bright eyes. Ezra could remember the delicate bones shifting beneath his fingers as he shook the forgotten viola player's hand. Maude had moved on before those thin, gloved hands stilled completely, just like she always did, but it was through watching him, hearing him speak of his music with such passion, that Ezra began to cultivate his own appreciation for the finer things in life. His mother had always been obsessed with grandeur and wealth, but was decidedly lacking in a classical education. He supposed his own superior education was one thing he could be grateful to her for, even if her motives for sending him to the finest schools were questionable. But Ezra never had been able to share with her what he felt as he watched the musicians displayed before him in the bright lights, wondering just for a moment if he could make something so vibrant and tangible with his own hands one day.  
  
Music just below blaring from his stereo, Ezra studied his hands as he shuffled a worn deck of cards. The vibration soothed him as he lost his thoughts in the rhythm of hand over hand over hand. A snifter of brandy sat untouched on the coffee table in front of his soft leather couch, just as it had every night for the past nine days. He had poured it with the desire to forget his life, really, but he had found himself wallowing in memories and regrets instead.  
  
His life could have taken so many turns at any point in time. A musician, a fencer, a lawyer, a banker, a con man just like Maude. Instead he was here, in Denver Colorado, playing the hero. Only, he was no hero.  
  
The obnoxious buzz of the doorbell cut through the music and his musings, so Ezra slowly got up to answer it, if only to tell whoever was visiting to go to hell. He wasn't surprised to see Inez leaning determinedly on the bell when he finally undid all the dead bolts. She seemed intent on wearing out the button if need be.  
  
"Enough already," he growled as he yanked the door open. Unfazed by the hostility, Inez glided past him and into the living room with only an arched brow.  
  
"I told you I was fine. There was no need for you to stop by." He grumbled irritably as he followed her, stopping just behind his couch. Spinning round on him once she was far enough into the house he couldn't easily throw her out, Inez met his irritated eyes with a challenge of her own.  
  
After a moment, her eyes wandered down as she scathingly took in his appearance, ready to take him to task. His worn t-shirt was wrinkled and untucked, his jeans old and frayed- she never even imagined him owning a pair of blue jeans in the first place- and his hair was all over the place. His eyes were blood shot and his complexion wan, as though he hadn't been eating properly, which was most likely true. Concern for him made her relax her stance slightly.  
  
"You look like shit."  
  
"Now tell me how you really feel."  
  
"Are you sure you want to know?"  
  
He shook his head, frowning in frustration, and ran a pale hand through already disheveled hair. Had the situation not been so tense, she would have laughed at the uncharacteristic display of emotion.  
  
After an awkward moment, he shifted back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest as he settled in to wait her out. His blazing green eyes bored into her face as he was stubbornly silent, buying himself time to formulate a plan.  
  
"I'm not leaving." She broke the stand-off first, her chin proudly lifting a notch. Between the two of them, they could have stood there all night.  
  
"Why not?" Ezra stared at her, mind rapidly trying to calculate her angle and coming up with very little behind her motivation. The guys probably hadn't sent her, not in the mood she was in, although they had been getting desperate lately. She seemed to genuinely care, but why go through all this trouble?  
  
He was just another bar patron- a smart ass one at that- and yes, he was attracted to her, but neither seemed to be looking for a relationship. Although, she might just be using that as an excuse to deflect Buck's amorous advances (not that he blamed her). They had casual conversation now and then, nothing that would make them close friends no matter how much he liked talking to her (and if he kept telling himself that he would believe it). She was too proud to ever ask him for money or help, which he admired but cut short his list of motivations. She could be just as devious and clever as him at times, too, and that made him a bit nervous. Her sudden appearance had him confused and that annoyed him.  
  
"As I said on the phone, senor, I want to know what the hell is going on. You've been a ghost for nearly two weeks." Her fiery temper was already short from his teammates' earlier antics, and now she was fed up with the entire situation. "Is it a crime to be worried about you? Chris is like a bear with a sore paw, Vin looks like someone shot his horse, JD hasn't told one- not one- bad joke, Nathan is hen-pecking everyone in sight. He was actually giving some of the regulars lectures on liver disease or something equally gross. Josiah's almost started three brawls, which I could barely believe. And, as much as I appreciate it, Buck has actually managed to keep his hands to himself for a week- not even when the new girl mentioned she was single!" She threw her hands up in the air. "It's just not right, Ezra!"  
  
She paused for breath and glared at his wary expression. Being mentally prepared for a drag-down-knock-out fight, she was completely disarmed when, after a few strained moments, Ezra nodded and motioned for her to have a seat on the couch.  
  
"I'm sorry for upsetting you, Inez. It was not my intention to cause anyone unease, but I really think you might be exaggerating the situation." His soft tone deflated her righteous anger and she sank down next to him.  
  
"Just a little," she admitted grudgingly. "But we worry about you."  
  
"And I appreciate that. It's just that this past case was rather...difficult." He glanced sideways at her, a bitter smirk playing across his lips. "I suppose you've read the papers?"  
  
"I've glanced at a few articles lately, but haven't seen anything that mentioned the ATF." She returned the look. "Nor am I willing to listen to drunken gossip. I prefer to hear it from someone directly involved, but your teammates are not talking. They respect you and are very worried." Maybe if she continued to reiterate that people were concerned, he'd open up a bit. Of course, it being Ezra, he would do the opposite just for spite.  
  
"I know." The messages on his machine and surprise house calls were a testament to that. *Lord only knows what I did to deserve them.*  
  
"Now stop that!" Her sharp tone made his head snap up. Brow furrowed, he stared at her in bewilderment. She sighed dramatically. "I will not have you feeling sorry for yourself. Obviously you've been doing more than enough of that the past week." She waved a hand at the brandy and the cards.  
  
Frowning, he looked as though he might protest, but she arched a skeptical brow and he subsided. Damn her, she was making him be honest with himself.  
  
"Well?" At his blank look, she motioned with a slender hand. "You were saying?"  
  
"Yes," he cleared his throat. "Well, to put it simply, I failed to realize a few important details and children ended up dead." At her wide-eyed look, he elaborated. "I was undercover to infiltrate a smuggling ring running from Mexico to Canada, hitting three to five cities in the US along the way. Their latest endeavor was bringing them through Denver, and I was positioned as a buyer for firearms. They smuggled the merchandise in on trucks, packed in the stuffing of 'discount' furniture and whatnot, and bribed the border patrols to look the other way half the time." Guilt rested heavy in his gut, almost a physical pain, as he relived one of the most horrifying sights of his career. He struggled to keep his face void of emotion.  
  
"In three meetings, they never directly told me what they were smuggling besides firearms, alcohol, and cocaine. When we finally set up the bust, we struck their main warehouse. One of the trucks was cold storage, meant for hauling meat. When we opened it, there were sides of beef hanging from the ceiling, obscuring our view." He paused, unsure of how to continue and, for once, was blunt. "They were smuggling Mexican families over the border, taking them to towns along the west coast and northern US. They put them in the refrigerator truck because it's insulated and would muffle any noises. . . These were people with small children and teenagers, from a warm climate brought up here at the end summer. In a freezer. With frozen goods."  
  
Inez muttered a prayer under her breath. 


End file.
